To Propose, Or Not?
by igivemyselfthecreeps
Summary: Darcy is irritated when Elizabeth Bennet does not come for dinner at Rosings. He finds himself wanting to visit Elizabeth...and wanting to propose. He reflects on whether or not he should, or if he should just leave, and risk never seeing Elizabeth again. Against my better judgement, I've uploaded another chapter, thanks to all the amazingly kind reviews from the first. Enjoy!
1. Before

The ladies had barely left the room before Mr Collins started chatting excitably about Lady Catherine's plans for opening up a sun room on the other side of the house.

Colonel Fitzwilliam nodded along kindly to Mr Collins's ramblings, but Darcy merely ignored him.

"And did you hear Mr. Darcy of Lady Catherine's desires for another, naturally more expensive, pianoforte?"

Darcy stood up abruptly and began pacing the room, though Mr Collins barely paused as he continued speaking of Lady Catherine's ventures.

"I am desperately sorry that my cousin, Miss Elizabeth could not be here…I fear that Lady Catherine was displeased…"

Darcy shot Mr Collins a threatening look. Mr Collins was not looking, rather he was admiring the intricate pattern on the fireplace as he rambled on. Colonel Fitzwilliam noticed, however; and inclined his head as Darcy turned around.

"…though I suppose it cannot be helped that she is feeling ill…"

 _If only she were here. She is the only lady who talks sense…indeed…apart from my cousin and myself, she is the only person to talk sense at all._

Darcy walked over to the window and stood, watching a gardener at his work. It was early evening, and the sun had not yet set.

 _I hope Miss Bennet…Elizabeth…is not too unwell_.

The gardener was trimming one of the many hedges that lined the path up to the house. It was astounding that Lady Catherine allowed the man to work while she had guests.

 _If Mr Collins could see…_

Darcy's gaze flicked away from the gardener towards a small grove, and beyond, to where Elizabeth Bennet was in Mr Collins's parsonage.

 _I could go…to see her…_

"And what is your opinion cousin? On Lady Catherine's new barouche?" Colonel Fitzwilliam called across the room, biting his lip in an attempt to keep himself from laughing.

Darcy looked from one man to the other, and realised that one of his eyebrows was raised significantly higher than the other.

"Forgive me, Colonel, Mr Collins…I desire to take a turn in the garden a while", Darcy bowed as he spoke, and left the room.

Darcy stormed down a set of marble-topped stairs, and burst through the front door and out into the garden. He breathed deeply, relishing the fresh air that whipped his face.

All Mr Darcy could think of at that moment was visiting Elizabeth Bennet.

 _To just hear her speak is enough. Though her eyes…_

Darcy paced around the garden, carefully avoiding the gardener, and staying out of view of the main windows.

Mr Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam were due to leave in a few days. But for once, Darcy did not want to leave his aunt's estate.

 _I can't bear to leave her…who knows when we shall meet again?_

Darcy paused momentarily. He had come to the edge of manicured garden, where the grove spread out all around him. In the early sunset, little light came through; long shadows darkened the trees, making it look almost like a proper forest.

Darcy ventured through the grove, to a perfectly situated log that allowed him to sit for a while.

Colonel Fitzwilliam and Darcy had to leave shortly. It was their plan. Darcy could hardly convince the colonel to remain without arousing more suspicion – Colonel Fitzwilliam already seemed amused by Darcy's constant attentions to Miss Elizabeth.

Darcy desperately wanted to leave Lady Catherine's – he hated having that sickly, witless girl pushed on him. But he did not want to leave Elizabeth.

 _There is one solution…so that we will not be parted…_

Darcy sighed heavily. He knew it was impossible. After telling Bingley that the eldest Miss Bennet was not right for him, how could Darcy propose to Miss Elizabeth? It was pure hypocrisy.

 _But Miss Bennet is merely a puppet for her mother, searching out the richest husband. Elizabeth is different…and she could come to love me…I know…_

Darcy stood again, and continued pacing. He had to step over gnarled tree roots as the light began to fade.

On the one hand, proposing to Elizabeth meant owning up to everyone that he loved her. Against his better judgement, he hardly need add.

 _But the heart rarely chooses wisely. It merely falls in love with that which it so desperately craves_.

In Darcy's case, it was a woman with whom he could actually speak without derision.

 _And Elizabeth is exactly the sort of woman I have always wanted to marry. She is even a fine beauty._

But she was not perfect. Her connections and relative poverty made it seem ridiculous that he should even consider her. She was also consistently rude, and remarkably headstrong for a woman of her age.

 _But is that not why I love her?_

Darcy found himself on the other edge of the grove, staring at Mr Collins's parsonage. It was a fairly small home; barely more than a cottage. That he had even stepped foot in there had shocked Lady Catherine.

All he had to do was knock. He would enter, and propose.

He retreated back into the trees and leant against one.

 _What am I doing?_

If he did this…it would change everything.

Darcy felt himself starting to sweat, and shake. He was suddenly full of nervous energy which would not abate, as he paced through the trees again.

 _Can I really do this? What if she says no?_

Darcy paused again, and began taking deep breaths.

He knew it was ridiculous. He knew that his friends and family would be shocked.

 _What would Lady Catherine say?_

Indeed, what would anyone say? Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley, caught marrying a lady with hardly any means or property. A woman whose social standing was so decidedly below his own.

Darcy began to walk back through the trees, seemingly decided that he would not risk ridicule and rejection.

He stopped, and turned again. Mr Collins's parsonage was nearly out of sight.

 _If I do not do this, I will regret it forever._

He focused on his breathing as he set off, back towards the parsonage.

He took slow, careful steps out of the trees. Each step brought him closer to the front door. It hardly seemed real when he finally reached it. He hesitated, then knocked.

 _I shall conquer this. I can do it._

He removed his hat, and tried to slow his breathing. His heart was pounding in his chest, to the point where he was sure the servant who had promptly answered the door would hear it.

He seemed in a dream when he finally strolled into the small sitting room, where Elizabeth sat looking astounded by his visit.

"Forgive me for intruding…I hope you are feeling better", Mr Darcy exclaimed

"I am…thank you", Elizabeth replied.

Darcy's heart was still racing. He felt himself fidgeting as he stood…then sat…then stood…

 _I can't do this…_

Elizabeth merely stared at Darcy with a confused sort of contempt.

Darcy felt himself going red as he continued pacing the room.

 _I must do this._

Darcy took a deep breath.

"In vain I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire, and love you."


	2. After

Darcy swiftly exited the room. His heart was pounding even more than before, and he found himself pausing for breath after quitting the house.

 _Had you behaved in a more gentleman-like manner._

Darcy's fists were clenched tight by the time he made it into the grove. He found his log and sat heavily, face in his hands.

 _You fool Fitzwilliam. You complete and utter fool._

He had known that Elizabeth was not his most fervent admirer certainly. But to be addressed with such complete lack of civility and blind hatred? Darcy had not expected that in the slightest.

Mr Darcy had honestly believed that Elizabeth would accept, even with their past, when he exclaimed his love. He thought that the truth of his struggles would make her respect him.

 _And yet…it has made me lose her forever._

If he had been less truthful?

 _No…as she said…I am the last man on earth she would consider marrying._

Darcy knew that his behaviour whilst staying at Netherfield was not his finest. Although perfectly civil to Charles and his sisters (and even sometimes to the abhorrent Mr Hurst), he struggled to communicate well with the Bennets, Lucas's and the like.

 _I can hardly converse with strangers, with whom I have nothing in common..._

Mr Darcy found that Mrs Bennet and her daughters, excepting for Elizabeth, had less class and taste than all of the country ladies he had met.

 _That was why I convinced Charles not to propose to Miss Bennet. To him I have been kinder than to myself_.

Was it comparable though? Darcy stopped that particular union because he did not believe Miss Bennet loved Charles, and because of the complete want of propriety of the whole Bennet family – even Mr Bennet.

 _In stopping Charles from proposing to that girl, I unintentionally destroyed my own chance of happiness_.

His father always said to do unto others as you would have them do unto you; sound advice that Darcy rarely followed.

 _I suppose this is my punishment. It is probably well deserved_.

Darcy was used to women falling at his feet, practically begging him to marry them. Even Miss Bingley, supposedly a lady of high class, accomplished and beautiful, flirted shamelessly with him.

Miss Elizabeth Bennet is one of few who would refuse to marry Mr Darcy.

 _Naturally. I would love the one lady who hates me._ _Though ending Charles's relationship isn't the only reason she hates me…_

Darcy stood up and began to walk again. He hardly knew where he was going. Everything still felt like a dream. The trees around him blurred together as he played over the scene in his mind again, and again. He blinked furiously to keep tears at bay.

It was starting to get dark, but Darcy had no intention of returning to Rosings yet. No doubt Lady Catherine would demand his presence, and would indelicately ask where he had been.

 _I hardly know what I would say. Indeed, I barely know how long I have been gone._

It was a strain to read the time on his pocket watch, so he gave up and continued walking in the twilight.

 _She also hates me because of Wickham…what has he said?_

Wickham had always been a liar. An _extremely_ good liar. Darcy could never forget how his father had been so fond of Wickham, that he had been convinced that the latter had truly wanted to enter the church.

A man who spent as much time as Wickham did in dirty brothels and public houses could never have been suitable for such a profession. Indeed, he was hardly suitable for any profession.

Wickham had lied to Darcy countless times in their youth. Some lies were more obvious than others. They were even close friends for a time; they played together as boys.

 _Whatever he told her is false…but she believed him_. _And she hates me for it_.

Darcy found himself in front of the stables. The boy looking after the horses stood up swaying as Darcy approached.

"Shall I get yer horse for you Mr Darcy, sir? It's pretty dark to be ridin' but…"

"Yes, bring me my horse, boy."

The boy nodded and stumbled towards Darcy's horse. He could be no more than 17, but he was blind drunk. He fumbled with the ropes but eventually managed to untie it. All the while, Darcy felt himself seething with anger.

 _A boy so young should be far more attentive to his duties: how many other boys of 17 have jobs on great estates?_

 _George Wickham was much the same in his youth when not at school or near my father_.

He was not usually nasty to servants, but he had to hold in his choice remarks as the boy finally led the horse over.

 _Anger is a ridiculous emotion – it bubbles over from one thing to another, making the most trivial of matters seem apocalyptic._

Darcy mounted quickly and set off at a brisk trot. Both the horse and its rider knew the paths well, even in the dark. The moon was mostly full, and gave off a reasonable amount of light. The cool breeze whipped around them as Darcy tried to focus on his riding.

 _Had you behaved in a more gentleman-like manner_

Elizabeth hated him for what seemed like a thousand reasons. Darcy could barely believe that anyone could abhor someone so much as Elizabeth seemed to loathe him.

 _Looking at it purely from what she has seen and heard…perhaps…perhaps she's right._

Darcy gulped, and sped his horse up to a canter, then a gallop. He could not see the house anymore, but continued along the path, relishing the strong winds.

The speed seemed to heighten his senses, making him focus. He could see the fields all around him in the moonlight. His heart was pounding again, but this time it was from exhilaration, not anxiety.

He felt whole, and one with himself. It had been weeks since he had spent a prolonged period of time alone. It felt extraordinary.

 _I can conquer this. Even if she will not marry me…I can at least defend myself against some of her accusations_.

Darcy turned, and galloped back towards Rosings. He felt a new sense of energy and determination. There was still an inexplicable ache in his chest, but he dismissed it.

He knew it was impossible for Elizabeth to love him now. In all probability, he didn't deserve her anyway.

 _But I can make her see…at least the truth about Wickham if nothing else._

He left the horse with the drunken stable boy, and jumped up the stairs two at a time into the house.

"Darcy! There you are! Where on earth have you been? Lady Catherine has not stopped fretting about your absence. She takes it as a slight you know…", Colonel Fitzwilliam exclaimed, as Darcy came through the door.

"You must come and ease her suffering, cousin." Fitzwilliam said, looking curiously at Darcy.

 _I must look like quite the sight_.

"No…no…make my excuses. I thank you."

"Darcy…are you unwell? Will you allow me to send for a physician?" Fitzwilliam looked concerned now, taking in Mr Darcy's windswept hair and drawn expression.

"No. I apologise. We may converse on the morrow."

Darcy trudged up the flights of stairs to his room. He promptly slammed his door and took a few more deep breaths.

 _The truth is all that matters now. May she find it in her heart to forgive at least some of my character._

Darcy slowly stepped towards his desk, pulled out a fresh sheet of paper and a quill, and began to write.


End file.
